


you should

by smartlike



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:32:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartlike/pseuds/smartlike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not Lilah, though. When the door opens, it's a skinny boy, floppy hair, lips twisted up in a scowl and Wesley's heart starts beating double time. He steps back, blinking and murmurs "Connor" in a voice that might not even be audible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you should

**Author's Note:**

> Written for k who requested Connor/Wes and got this which is just barely anything if you squint. Set late s.3 in what amounts to an hour of potential canonically available time.
> 
> Originally posted at http://www.obsessivetendencies.net/am/

Wesley almost doesn't open the door. He can't imagine who it could be, unless it's Lilah again and if Wesley knows anything, it's that he's really had enough of her for awhile. But, he gets up and goes over, anyway. Hesitates only a second before opening and so what he now also knows is that even Lilah is better than nobody.

It's not Lilah, though. When the door opens, it's a skinny boy, floppy hair, lips twisted up in a scowl and Wesley's heart starts beating double time. He steps back, blinking and murmurs "Connor" in a voice that might not even be audible. Connor shoves into the room and Wesley steps further back, instinctively crossing his arms over his chest. He hasn't actually seen Connor close up yet, just in the distance, but he knew immediately and if he had needed more proof, he has it now. Connor wasn't raised by Angel, but he's there in every movement the boy makes.

"You took me." Connor has carefully scanned the apartment, taking everything in and now he whirls back on Wesley. "I don't--" He takes a deep ragged breath and clenches his hands into fists. "My father didn't explain it, but I know you took me. From Angelus."

The way he spits out Angel's name makes Wesley move another step back towards the open door, away from the anger. He nods, though, answering Connor's accusation. He took him and, in a way, he'd thought it was from Angelus. Wesley's not interested in excusing himself, he just remembers what he thought at time.

"You hate him?" Connor's breathing is more regulated now, but his hands are still balled at his sides. Still, Wesley risks unfolding his own arms.

He doesn't know how to answer that question. He's spent months swimming somewhere between hate and guilt and he can't find the right shore, can't figure out who he thinks is wrong here. But, when Wesley pictures Angel's face, hovering over his hospital bed, he doesn't see the pillow and the anger, only his face and how for a moment it made Wesley feel saved. We help the helpless, he thought and almost laughed.

Now, Wesley just stares at Connor, eyes wide. Connor steps forward, lifting one hand and Wesley blinks, slowly shakes his head. "No," he says quietly.

Connor pauses at that. Blinks and Wesley thinks even that is like Angel, the blank way he processes things. Wesley wonders what's happened, where Connor came from and why and what he's doing here in this apartment. A moment's potential for salvation, but Wesley doesn't even consider it this time, just waits for the rage he knows to expect. And Connor's lips twist into a snarl, his hand flying up to slap at Wesley's cheek as he takes two quick steps.

Wesley ducks his head, the blow falling on his skull, because what he's learned about himself is that even though he doesn't have any reason to go on, he can't stop surviving. It's an instinct he can't get over and from the way Connor whimpers softly when his palm connects with Wesley's hair, he wonders if maybe Connor understands. He tips his head up again and feels Connor's fingers flutter over his forehead and eye and come to rest on the same cheek they were aiming for originally. 

Connor stares at his fingers on Wesley's skin like he's remembering something and Wesley opens his mouth to ask what it is, surprised even as the words start to slide between his lips. Instead, Connor is moving again, faster and he stops Wesley's question with his own mouth. It's a hesitant kiss, sloppy and he tastes like sugar and salt and pain. Wesley almost manages to kiss back before Connor is pulling away, blinking and breathing shallow again. He sidesteps Wesley and heads back into the hallway.

"You should," floats back at Wesley and he can't figure out what Connor is responding to until Wesley's shutting the door minutes later. 

He leans there, forehead pressed against the wood, the smell of paint still lingering and remembers. Angel. He should hate Angel. He's not sure if that's true, but it doesn't matter because Wesley knows he can't. 


End file.
